Arnie With Four Legs
by RightToRemainSilent
Summary: Dean never did like Dobermans. And he really should've listened to Sam.


**Well. **I have no idea where this came from. It just did. I quite like it, but the diaglogue might be a bit iffy... meh. I don't know.

**Disclaimer: **Kripke owns the boys. I think I own the dog. Well, what's left of the dog.

* * *

**Arnie With Four Legs**

The dog is a pair of glinting eyes in the darkness, and Sam doesn't like it. He nudges his brother. "It's watching us."  
Dean looks up briefly from the trunk. "It's a dog, Sammy."  
Sam sighs and leans on the side of the car. "It's creeping me out."  
"What's it gonna do? It's just a dog."  
"But it's _looking _at us."  
Dean rolls his eyes, closes the trunk and raises an eyebrow. "So?" He swings his bag onto his shoulder and starts towards the motel room. "It's probably chained to the wall, bored as hell."  
Sam glances at the eyes. "I don't think it's chained up. It's like it's waiting for us."  
"Seriously?"  
Sam shoots Dean a glare. "It just makes me uncomfortable."  
"You get watched by dogs often, Dr Dolittle?"  
Sam scowls and lopes towards the motel room. Dean chuckles behind him. He grins and shrugs it off. "Look, if it's bothering you that much…" He starts to walk towards the dog, which is still staring, unblinkingly, at them both. "Here doggy… you gonna show Sammy that you're just a harmless little doggy, yeah?"  
"Dean, I don't think that's a good idea."  
"Why not?" Sam raises an eyebrow, and Dean holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. If you think the nasty dog is creepy, we'll leave it alone." He pushes past his little brother into the room.

Sam stares at the dog a little longer.

* * *

Obviously, Dean doesn't take Sam's concerns into account when he decides to see if the dog appreciates a shower the next morning.  
The dog doesn't, and neither does the manager. Dean thinks it's pretty funny, until the dog snarls and starts snapping at his heels. The manager's sense of humour is a little more on the sadistic side it appears.

* * *

Sam gives his brother a look. It's caught somewhere between you've-got-to-be-kidding-me and I'm-not-cleaning-this-up-dude. Dean doesn't like it. "Sam, seriously man! You've got to help me!"  
Sam pointedly looks down at the subject of the argument before raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think so."  
Dean pulls a face that Sam assumes is supposed to be doe-eyed and woeful. "What am I supposed to do with it?"  
"Should've thought about that before putting a bullet in its skull, huh?" Sam walks away, and Dean swears he's smirking. Bitch.  
"Hey! You can't just leave me with it!"  
"It's not gonna bite you, Dean. Just… get rid of it."  
So Dean's left standing over the thing, hoping that nobody decides to go looking for the motel's crappy security system. Which is currently lying on the floor in the Winchester's room, a shot through its head. Dean never did like Dobermans, but Dobermans that chase you down several country roads while you're doing 70mph and manage to keep up until they actually herd you back into the motel? He hates that sort with a newly discovered passion. It wasn't even provoked.

Much.

He probably should've listened to Sam on that one.

* * *

The whole shooting thing was accidental. Sort of. If the dog had left him alone, it would've been fine. If it had just gone back to the yard, he wouldn't have had to pull a gun on the damn thing. And now look where it is.  
Dean looks at it with vague distaste. It's collar reads Jackson. "What do we tell the manager?"  
Sam shrugs from the table he's sat at, laptop illuminating his face. "Nothing. Just take the dog and bury it somewhere."  
"Yeah, thanks for the help."  
"If he doesn't ask, we don't tell, okay?"  
"You'd have made a great lawyer, y'know that?"  
Sam rolls his eyes and looks up from the screen. "Put it in the trunk, take it to a field, dump it in a hole. It's not hard, dude."  
There's a somewhat awkward silence. "Should I burn it?"  
"Why? Is it likely to come back and haunt you?"  
"Hey, you didn't see this thing. He would totally come back and haunt my ass if he could." Dean pokes the dead dog with his foot, and remembers the third time he'd checked the rear view and found the damn thing still chasing him. "He's like Arnie with four legs."  
Sam looks up at this point. "What?"  
"Terminator. I swear, man, that dog would not give up."  
The younger Winchester rolls his eyes – Dean's beginning to hate that little mannerism – and closes his computer. "If you don't hurry up and get rid of it, someone will notice."  
"What's there to notice?"  
"You mean _apart _from the corpse in the doorway?"  
"Shut up."  
Sam gives him a disappointed look. One that screams you-should've-known-better. "If you hadn't shot it in the first place…"  
"It was going to rip my legs off, Sam!"  
"Same way that cat in Minnesota was going to claw your eyes out?"  
"Hey, that cat was evil."  
"Whatever." Sam grins. "Just a harmless little doggy, huh Dean?"  
Dean scowls. Sam laughs. The dog does neither. Dean drops to a crouch and gives in to morbid curiosity. The bullet was a good shot, right between the eyes. The dog had glared. Actually glared. Its eyes had practically sent out waves of complete disgust. If the dog could speak, regardless of being dead and all, it would _so_ yell abuse at him. "Feeling's mutual, buddy."  
"What?"  
"Nothin'."  
Sam snorts. "You're talking to a dead dog? Yeah, and _I'm _Dr Dolittle."  
Dean ignores him, and instead heads out to the car to fetch some tarp.

There's no way he's putting the carcass straight onto the seats.


End file.
